


Inert

by Jalec



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Camping, Comfort, Drabble, Fire, Hiking, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Suffering, The Hale Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jalec/pseuds/Jalec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles gets pissed off at the fellow campers on the camping expedition he forced Derek to come to (so he wouldn't be the only loser who wouldn't have a friend to bunk with) because someone poured petrol on the campfire and made Derek freak out for obvious reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inert

"It'll be fun, Derek. C'mon."

"Nobody likes camping, Stiles."

"I do, I love camping!"

Derek cocks an eyebrow. He'll see where this goes. "So you're telling me you willingly want to hike miles into the middle of nowhere, have to set up a tent, sit out in the cold, try to get a good night's sleep on a the ground with a bunch of kids you don't really know from your school?"

Derek has got him. Derek always gets him. "No, okay, the hiking and the sleeping on the ground thing isn't fun. But you're looking at this from the wrong angle, D! Just think of this," he says, putting a hand on Derek's shoulder and gazing out in front of them like's admiring a horizon, "you, me, some  _friends_ , chilling with some s'mores, telling ghost stories, getting drunk. Fun!" He says as he pats Derek's shoulder. When Derek shoots him a murderous look, he takes his hand off Derek and mumbles "fun" under his breath, this time much less enthusiastic.

"Why do you really want me to come with you, Stiles?"

"What do you mean? No reason. You don't even have to come. Why would I want you to come?" He laughs. "Totally  _not_ bringing you for an ulterior motive, dude. Why would you even think that? I'm actually kind of offended yo–-"

"Stiles," Derek interrupts. "Why?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and huffs. See. Busted. Every damn time.

"I need a tent buddy."

"A tent...'buddy'? Invite Scott."

"Do you seriously not think I tried that? You seriously think your broody albeit perfectly chiseled face was my first choice? No, don't flatter yourself, mate. Of course I asked Scott. He and Kira have a 'thing' planned, whatever that means," he sniffs as he grabs a beer from Derek's fridge.

"A," Derek says as he takes the beer from Stiles's hand. "You turned 18 a month ago. You have no tolerance, and you're annoying enough as it is when you're sober. B, what makes you think  _I_ want to be in a confined, isolated space with  _you_?"

"Because you love me..." His voices lingers as he tries on a smile. "Like everybody loves me. 'Cause I'm so cute."

"And annoying."

Stiles huffs. His flattery, if that's what this even is, usually works on Scott. He doubt even mind-control would work on Derek, though, so it isn't surprising his charm isn't helping him get his way.

"Fine. I'll pay you."

He fishes around his bag for his wallet. When he finds it he turns it upside down on Derek's bench. Out fall three mangled receipts, a few pieces of change, a condom (XXL) which he quickly sweeps up and stuffs into his pocket, and a piece of gum. He puckers his lips in thought as he counts the change.

"Yea, I have a bank account," he says.

Derek just shakes his head and walks off to sit on the couch. Stiles follows in suit behind. He's going to have to resort to begging, isn't he?

"Derek, pleeeeeeease," the boy says as he claps his hands together like he's praying. "Please, please, pleeeeeeeease. You've  _got_ to know what it's like to be that one guy at school that nobody wants to room with. You know, when you went to school all those decades ago?!"

"Mm-mm, no, Stiles," Derek responds with a wicked smile. "I can't say that I do. You know, considering people actually liked me."

Once again, Stiles pouts. He throws himself back against the couch and folds his arms. Derek just has to roll his eyes, because the kid is pathetically annoying, but also just plain pathetic in the pity-worthy kind of way. He sighs, then goes to speak.

"Fine," he says, putting a finger up to Stiles telling him to be quiet. " _If_ you do something for me."

"What?"

"Leave me alone for a month afterwards. A whole month Stiles-free. No coming to the loft, no just appearing in my car. No even going through my trash. Deal?" He asks as he extends a hand forward.

"Psch, I'm not some freak. I don't go through your trash. I don't want to see your uncooked rabbit meal remains, dude," Stiles responds as he shakes Derek's hand. "Deal."

* * *

 

Derek is a surprisingly savvy hiker, and who knew he could look even more attractive in a beanie, flannelette shirt, some jeans, and boots, all topped off with a rucksack on his back? Stiles didn't, that's for sure.

When he picked Derek up - and agreement that they had organised earlier - Derek was huffing, as per usual, and brooding. He tossed his sack into the back of the jeep, which prompted Stiles to remind Derek that the jeep was actually a person, had feelings, and that any inappropriate behaviour would result in a jeep-ban, unnecessarily touching things in the jeep as an example of inappropriate behaviour. About half way the beginning of the hike, which was out in the Beacon Hills wilderness, Derek decided he would run a finger over the jeep's dashboard.

He watched Stiles's mouth fall open like he was performing the most horrific of acts.

"Derek! What did I say?!" Stiles screeched as he pulled over and begin wiping the dashboard furiously with some cleaning cloth. "No touching!"

"Sorry," Derek said, which was odd because Stiles thought it was the first that the word has ever actually passed Derek's lips.

Once they were back on the road, Derek did it again, eliciting the same response from Stiles, but before he could pull over this time, Derek stopped him.

"If you pull over - and we're late - I will be walking back home. And you will be camping alone."

Wow, the nerve of this guy, Stiles thought to himself. But giving up his camping buddy - his  _hot_ camping buddy that would be awe-inspiring to everybody else in the camp, not that he was trying to impress everybody else or anything - was not an option.

"Fine."

 

They aren't last to arrive, which is a fact Derek is astounded by considering Stiles drives slower than most of the elderly population.

Derek's entire demeanour shifts when he and Stiles throw their sacks over their shoulders and meet up with the other campers. A large smile overcomes Derek's face, and he is surprisingly quite social. He stands close to Stiles, who still leads the way, but Derek is the one to engage in conversation with the other campers. He even, at one point, says he's glad that Stiles invited him.

This guy is good, and Stiles knows it. He's not usually 'thankful' for Derek what does, per se, but this, how he's acting around all these people, who Stiles is more of an acquaintance than a friend, he is beyond thankful for.

When their 20-strong group has all arrived, they begin their travels. Derek is probably used to barefoot (buck-naked?) wilderness adventures, with being a werewolf and all, but luckily for Stiles there is something resembling a path that the group follows.

"We're going up there," a man, Jerry (typical artsy-nature type name), says as he points to the top of a balding hill. There are patches where no trees grow. The trees that are there seem to be dwindling, not just in numbers, but in density as well. It seems like a decent spot to spend the night.

"It'll have a good view," Stiles says to Derek, leaning in close. "Positive side. Positives. Power of positive thinking."

Normally that would respond in a growl or huff from Derek, but now - perhaps because they're in front of all these people? - Derek smiles, and agrees with his tent-mate. "I can't wait."

About half way through the hike, when the group is about a third of the way up the mountain, Derek begins to traipse ahead of everybody else. You're fit, we all get that, no need to show off, Stiles thinks to himself, but he has to at least try and keep up. You know, for appearances-sake, so he steams ahead too. They come up behind a pair of people who look about Derek's age.

"Derek?" One of them asks when she turns around to grab a water bottle from her bag and sees him. "Oh, my God. Derek Hale," she squeals.

Stiles looks at Derek, confused, from a few meters back as he hasn't been able to keep pace entirely.

"Cindy," Derek says in a soft yet monotone voice.

"You remember!" She giggles. "How long's it been? Since school, right?"

Derek nods. This chick went to school with Derek? Damn. She's a looker. She seems like one of the popular types - a total Lydia, except probably without the genius IQ - yet she seems totally and completely giddy by Derek's mere presence, like she is laying eyes on  _the_ most popular person ever.

An unsavoury thought must have passed her mind soon after, because her expression changes from something bubbly to something remorseful.

"I'm sorry about your family. I heard about it, we all did, and I wanted to contact you, I just didn't know how."

Derek's head drops at the mention of his family...the thought of the fire. "Thanks," he respond sweetly, even though Stiles is sure, even after all these years, it's still something he doesn't like to discuss or even think about, with fair reason.

Her partner tugs on her shirt, after waving to Derek - probably another classmate - and they continue on.

"You went to school with them?" Stiles asks as they begin to walk again. 

"Yea.  _Decades ago_ ," Derek mocks with a smile. Derek doesn't mock. Seriously, there has to be something in the air around here.

 

Him and Stiles are the second pair in the group to arrive at the campsite, after Cindy and her partner. Derek's classmates appear to have picked the most isolated camping spot, but Derek and Stiles have the pick of the lot other than that. They decide on a spot away from where they suspect everybody else will set up camp. Their spot is sheltered by a semi-circle of bushes which looks like they should barrier their tent from any noises.

Stiles is determined to set up the tent, despite almost impaling himself with tent pegs three times.

"This better not fall down on us in the middle of the night," Derek says. Now there's the Derek that we all know (and love).

"I actually have a PhD in tent construction," Stiles says as one of the supports for the tent flicks out of the ground and whacks his leg.

"Let m--"

"No. PhD, dude. I can do this, okay. Go talk to Cindy or whatever her name is. She seems to be totally into your wicked physique...still."

Derek laughs the comment off.

"Not really my type. We weren't really friends," he says, sitting atop a log acting as a makeshift seat, dropping his head into his hands.

"I don't think anybody ever told her that then, D."

When Derek next looks up, to his surprise, the tent actually looks sturdy, and like it's constructed well and properly. And just before dusk. Impressive.

Stiles notices that Derek is impressed and he just _has_ to point out his genius, because he doesn't really ever get an opportunity to do that for real with Derek.

"PhD. Tent construction," he reaffirms with a cheeky wink and a click of the tongue. "Food time?" He asks, and Derek nods.

 

A gas burner cooks up some mince dish in the main part of the campsite. Enough long logs are placed strategically around an existing fire pit that they entire group should is able to sit around comfortably while still managing to keep warm.

Cindy and her friend - apparently someone who thinks he's a survival expert as he's trying to like the fire by rubbing some sticks together - are accompanied by another four pairs who sits on the logs waiting for the fire to be lit, chattering happily.

A few more are still setting up their tents, while there's a few more playing games with some balls behind the fire pit. Most of them are recognisable. Some are from Beacon Hills school, others, like Cindy, are locals from around the area. The only person other than Derek that Stiles would even dare consider associating with is a fellow student named Boyd.

Boyd doesn't particularly like Stiles, but at least he knows his first name, which is something. It looks like his partner is a shorter blonde girl with pronounced eyes who seems to think that leather is appropriate hiking attire.

Jerry - Captain Camper? - beckons for the group to get some of the mince-y slosh stuff with some bread. Totally not appetising. Why did Stiles come on this thing again? Oh, yea, _'f_ _riends, chilling with some s'mores, telling ghost stories, getting drunk. Fun!'_ And of course quality time with the Derbear who, for some reason, is even now sharing his unusual cheery demeanour with Stiles. He happily laps up the mince meat and bread and takes a place on a log with Stiles who, of course, took three pieces of bread instead of two like every body else.

When everybody seems satiated (not so much fully as the fact they had no mince stuff left), they toss their dishes in a bag and all huddle around the fire, donning extra layers of clothing. Most pairs are actual partners, so they are hugging or huddled and sharing blankets for warmth. Derek's acting nice, but he's probably not up for that just yet, Stiles concludes. The temperature dropped surprisingly quickly, even for Beacon Hills which is a naturally cold part of Califnoria. Thankfully there is no real breeze. That would have just been unbearable. And then, yes, Stiles would be huddling with Derek whether he liked it or not.

The group's concept of time becomes irrelevant and ultimately entirely disappears as people get to know each other, start chatting, and having a good time. Derek has even managed to hold a conversation for a good ten minutes with a man and his girlfriend about hunting in the local area. He seems like an expert. Wonder why.

Stiles manages to stay part of the conversation too. Derek makes it easier for him, looking back at the boy for actually unneeded reassurance or confirmation on questions he already knows the answers to. So long as this doesn't create some long-lasting idea in the school that Stiles is an expert bear tracker, this is cool. Very cool. And he's very thankful that Derek decided to come, even if it means he has to leave the man alone for a month after this.

"S'mores!" Someone announces excitedly, and the campers all cheer, some even raising bottles. Keep those ones away from the open flame... The campers are hungry but crispy-human is definitely not something that sounds appetising.

S'mores are something that Stiles has not had in ages. His dad isn't really the 'buy sugary food and let your already hyperactive son loose on the world' type. So naturally when he's offered one, then a second, and then half of Derek's second, he accepts not-so graciously. 

The campers who were playing ball when they all first arrived at back at it now, but now they're trying to play something with a happy sack? Dangerous business.

All seems perfect. Surprisingly, unnervingly, oddly perfect. Stiles is enjoying himself. People are enjoying his company. He is enjoying Derek's company. It's amazing.

Until one of the ball-players throws a cup of something onto the fire, making it flare up several feet dramatically in front of everyone. The heat that radiates off it temporarily is intense, and Stiles has to check his eyebrows because for a second there he thinks they have might been seared off. When he realises he's still all here, he begins to laugh, and then looks at Derek. He doesn't see the cheery, smiling, strong man that accompanied here. The person who he looks at looks like a shell of Derek. Pale, yes, but completely fixated on the fire, like he is petrified. His eyes glisten its reflection, and his mouth is slightly agape.

"Derek?" Stiles asks as he puts a hand to Derek's shoulder, for the first time in a long time out of concern as opposed to just an excuse to touch Derek.

"Hey, Derek?"

Cindy pushes past in front of the two of them. When Stiles realises it's her, he remembers her and Derek's earlier conversation. Seeing each other... Her being enthralled with him. The fire.

The fire!

She knew. Others probably knew. Why the hell would they do that? Are they trying to screw with Derek? Some sick punishment? Or joke? Likes he's fodder for comedy?

His blood boiling, Stiles stands up, and for the first time in a long time he shouts. His voice rips through the camp, stopping everybody else in their tracks.

"What did you do that for?! You idiot! What the hell is your problem?"

He wants desperately - perhaps he needs desperately - to defend and protect Derek. Why? Out of loyalty, kinship, as some sort of debt for all the times Derek has begrudgingly defended Stiles? Or for some other reason?

But the person Stiles is berating isn't one of the ones that knows about Derek's family, it seems. He is Stiles's age, maybe even younger. Not that it matters to Stiles because right now he's not thinking straight. He just has some innate and powerful responsibility to protect Derek.

If he had his composure he might let this slide, might feel guilty about bringing Derek, might even think that this was a likely predicament, but he isn't thinking straight right now.

He doesn't intend to say it, but it just sorts of falls out. It falls out weighing tons, and hits the ground loudly. "His family  _died_ in a fire!" He screeches, motioning to Derek who still looks petrified. It was undeniably wrong to say that. It's not Stiles's business, and it's definitely not his place to tell people what happened to Derek's family.

"You're a goddamn dickhead, man," Stiles says toward the man who has now dropped the cup of what, in retrospect, is probably petrol.

Moving his attention from the campers to Derek, Stiles calms his voice and changes his tone to something more supportive.

"Derek, hey. Come with me back to the tent."

Derek doesn't move, so Stiles hooks his hands under Derek's underarms and pulls him up. He rests one of Derek's arms around his shoulder as he helps the terrified-looking man to their tent, but not before giving the petrol-thrower another look. People gasp and whisper and point as the two hobble to their tent.

Stiles does the door of the tent back up after sitting Derek down on his make-shift bed of blankets and a sleeping bag. It is reasonably quiet in their overly humble temporary abode.

"Hey? Derek? Are you okay?" He asks, but receives no response.

He runs his hands down his face, revealing bloodshot eyes. He's come face to face with and is rather accustomed to it now. But Derek is not dead. He is alive. His family is not.

"Derek? I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I should have thought about this before I invited you."

Stiles bites his tightly clenched fist then begins to knock his temple with it

This is normally the point where, in the movies Stiles loves to watch, the stunned makes a miracle recovery, telling the helper not to worry, but Derek doesn't suddenly reanimate. He sits still, motionless, looking eternally terrified.

"Derek?" Stiles puts his hands on the man's shoulders in front of him. "Derek? Please wake up. You're safe."

Tears begin to form in his eyes. He's not really sure why. There could be a number of explanations. He's worried about losing Derek? He's sorry this happened to Derek? He's sorry that he was the one who did this to Derek? He's worried he won't be able to fix him? The person who has, despite his annoyance,  _always_ been there for the young boy.  _Always_.

"Derek? Pl--Please."

He doesn't know what else to do but to pull the man in to an embrace. A long overdue, warm, supportive hug that you give someone you love. A friend, a family member, a lover. One that he wished someone would have given him years ago when his mother died.

He feels Derek's stubble against his cheek and neck as Derek's head falls against Stiles's shoulder, limp. Derek normally radiates warmth, but now he is cold to the touch. Stiles begins to rub his back with long strokes to try and warm him, while he begins to sniffle and tears finally begin to fall from his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he muffles into man's shoulder as he presses in closer.

"You're okay. You're okay," he says through sniffles. "You're going to be okay. I'm here, Derek. Nothing wi...--Nothing will hurt you while I'm here. I promise."

He feels completely insincere despite his intentions. Those are words you hear in books and on movies. They mean nothing. And Stiles is beyond annoyed he can't think of something meaningful to say. 

When you pull away from an embrace with a lover, you put your hand to their face, which is what Stiles does when he pulls away from Derek. His thumb lightly strokes Derek's cheek and stubble. Tears continue to fall from his eyes because  _nothing is happening_.

Like a magnet, Stiles's other hand finds its way to Derek's other cheeks. Clasping his face in both of his hands, Stiles pulls Derek's head closer to his. Their foreheads meet and Stiles's eyes clench tightly shut, trying but failing to stop the flow of tears.

"You need to wake up, Derek," Stiles says, this time definitively as it were a command. "I need you to wake up, Derek."

Then, slowly, because he's not sure if he can do this, Stiles pulls his forehead away from Derek's, but keeps the man clasped in his hands in the same position. He raises his mouth to Derek's forehead and presses his lips against the cold surface. "Please," he mumbles through it. "Please."

When someone loves you too they put their hand to your waist and pull you back in for that hug, because it's warm, and secure, and means as much to them as it does to you. One of Derek's hands finds its way to Stiles's waist, and does just that.

Immediately Stiles's flow of tears stops.

"Derek?" He asks, his voice still fragile and worried.

"Stiles," Derek responds as he breathes the warmth from _this_ in.


End file.
